


Shackles

by CommanderBoxers



Series: Shackles [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Broken Bone, Gen, Implied Torture, NPC Death, Nobody is having a good day but Ignis is having a terrible one, This is kind of just an iontro, This story ends well I promise, Well more like 80 per cent of it but still, Whump, limb injury, no beta we die like men, the second one should be much longer!, this first chapter is very short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBoxers/pseuds/CommanderBoxers
Summary: “This should have been easy...” Noctis grumbles, shoving his lance through a daring MT that comes a little too close and shifting against Prompto's back to pull back and readjust his grip on his oil slicked weapon.None of them ever expected the imperials might have a new trick up their sleeve. They’d failed to expect additional enemy shipments being dropped off just far enough out of view in the surrounding woods while they were distracted with the first and second group, effectively overpowering them once the extra soldiers joined the fray.
Series: Shackles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937362
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Shackles

“Damn....”

Noctis doesn't know where to look anymore or what to pay attention to as he presses his back against Prompto's, Ignis and Gladio hovering at their sides, weapons at the ready but not daring to move away.

Four shipments. Four Gods-damned groups of MTs to deal with at once. They'd been on their way to the Regalia with the intention of driving to the nearest outpost to stock up on curatives when the first enemy shipment arrived and dropped the soldiers almost directly on top of them, blocking their escape.

The first batch of MTs of had been as expected; mostly untrained and nothing they couldn't handle, but they’d overestimated their capabilities to take on several troops following a string of rough hunts that had left them exhausted and a little green around the gills in Ignis' case after the advisor was poisoned twice protecting his charge. The first time hadn't been much of an issue as Prompto had wasted no time slapping their one antidote on the angry wound, but poison from a surprise second sting is still working its course through his system - now well over half an hour later after their encounter with the killer bees. He still stands, possibly can fight, but he’s definitely seen better days- His lance is held a little too low, his glasses askew and his stance is visibly off. Noctis can feel his weight shifting against and away from him.

“This should have been easy...” Noctis grumbles, shoving his lance through a daring MT that comes a little too close and shifting against Prompto's back to pull back and readjust his grip on his oil slicked weapon.

None of them ever expected the imperials might have a new trick up their sleeve. They’d failed to expect additional enemy shipments being dropped off just far enough out of view in the surrounding woods while they were distracted with the first and second group, effectively overpowering them once the extra soldiers joined the fray.

The MTs approach cautiously, herding the group into a tight glaring mass. While most of them are generally comfortable with close-quarter combat, Prompto isn't. A gun isn't an ideal weapon for such close range, even less so against metal-clad foes off which his bullets could easily ricochet and hit them. Gladio, while generally comfortable with enemy being up close and personal, is pressed too closely against the others to really do anything- he can't swing his sword without hitting someone he’d rather not cut in half, so he's limited to short, small movements or using his weapon as a secondary shield for himself, arm stretched so his shield protects Noctis.

Ignis wobbles for a moment, almost falls, and Prompto takes his eyes off the enemy ahead to catch and steady him when one of the MTs steps up, reaching for the distracted gunslinger's weapon. He spots it in his peripheral, but between having a hand on Ignis' arm and his right arm still pressed against a still moving Noctis, it's hard to get a steady shot that doesn’t risk ricocheting right back at them. He's caught short and instinctively attempts to jump back, shooting point blank at the enemy with a panicked cry.

His bullet harmlessly pings off the trooper's armor and thankfully flies off somewhere into the woods while his gun is ripped out of his hands, his effort to move back and away sending his friend staggering ahead into the mass of armored troops.

“Noct!” Ignis rips his arm out of Prompto's grip and tries to catch him, but in his state miscalculates the distance and only grabs air, tumbling down with a curse as it throws him off balance. An MT immediately grabs his lance, a second one his arm, and both instantly pull him away from view.

Gladio hesitates for a moment too long as he feels all three of his companions pulled away at once. He wants to raise his sword, but there's still too much of a risk of hitting them, so he looks for Noctis, but the damn prince has already landed somewhere out of view between several MTs that are surely holding him down.

Two short pained cries resonate behind him and he turns around to check on Prompto and Ignis just in time to see the butt of a very familiar gun flying toward his face.

\----- 

“ _-Kup...._ ” There's a sound, or maybe several, Gladio isn't sure. They're pretty distant, echoing vaguely and overlapping, weaving together into one mass of sounds in his hazed mind.

“ _mon ma.....it...io._ ”

A dull ache throbs to life on the side of his face and he grunts, realizing his neck is turned at an uncomfortable angle putting pressure on his left shoulder and jaw, and something small but hard is pressing into his cheek.

Noctis’ voice echoes again, clearer this time.

“Gladio say something, _please_.” This finally snaps him back to reality and he blinks a few times, lifting his head to relieve the stress on his neck and remove his cheek from whatever has been poking into it, discovering the culprit to be a miserable little pebble. Looking down he realises he on... concrete floor? Wait, weren't they in a forest just moments ago? A vision of the gunslinger's weapon about to crack him upside the head flashes in his mind and a sense of dread slithers its way into his gut, taking home in chest as realization dawns on him they must have been taken away after the MTs overtook them.

“Fuck, where are we?” he wonders, looking around and searching for his charge who almost sounds like he's about to cry now that he's alert enough to realize how off his tone is, how labored his breathing sounds. His vision is still somewhat blurry, but he sees Noctis sitting about two meters away from him across their cell, Prompto laying still by his side with his head pillowed on Noctis’ thigh. Prompto is sporting a darkening black eye, but seems to be otherwise unharmed. He shifts lightly as if he’s starting to drift back to reality and Noctis sucks in a breath, hissing, and Gladio notes his right leg bend at a painfully odd angle a third of the way down below the knee near Prompto's head, the baggy pants making it difficult to notice.

“Noct, what happened?” Gladio questions, moving with the intent of lifting himself off the ground and get a good look at the wound, but his hands stay behind him, shoulders locked stiff and painful. The unexpected inability to use his hands causes him to firmly plant his face back onto the ground with a curse when he fails to properly catch himself.

Peeling his face off the floor with a grunt for the second time in the last five minutes, Gladio momentarily re-evaluates his situation: he can definitely feel his fingers and hands so at least he knows those are still there. They’re slightly numb, especially his left side that has been bearing most of his weight for gods know how long, but he can clearly feel something binding them behind him. Handcuffs, probably. He curses a few more times for good measure at this predicament before rolling on his side and bringing a leg up, kicking the air to give himself momentum and pull his body upright into a sitting position and looks around some more.

“Hey…” Gladio breathes. “Where’s Ignis?”

Noctis glances in the direction of a door a few meters away and the bars between it and them, voice low and dripping with worry. “They took him away. Said he looked like crap and would take care of him, whatever that means.”

As if on cue, Ignis’ voice sounds from beyond the heavy door, possibly arguing, definitely protesting. The prince and shield exchange a look. They hear clanking sounds again, more protesting from Ignis, then silence falls again, cold and heavy.

Prompto stirs, taking the telltale deep breath of someone waking up and looks around blearily, brows knitted with concern within seconds.

“Uh.... Guys?” He whispers, lifting his head some “We..Wha- Where are we?”

 _Wondering the same, kid...._ Gladio thinks, scanning the area some more in hope of some kind of answer. The place itself isn’t anything spectacular; windowless walls of stone and metal encompass the room that seems to be divided between about four cells. The door to their shared cell sits to his right and beyond it a plain but visibly thick metal door with a pin pad and small monitor. His eyes travel to a mass maybe a meter away to his left. Whatever it is absolutely reeks, but is obscured by a thick, ratty tarp.

He glances back at the boys who are now both staring at the same thing and holding their breath- they probably guessed what's underneath it, but if they have, neither of them dares to voice it. Steeling himself, Gladio scoots closer to the tarp, stretching a leg out and hooking a boot underneath the cover to kick a portion of it up and away to reveal the ruins of a face staring up with long dead eyes.

” What the _fuck_ .” He's too shocked to say anything useful, tries to drag the tarp back over the body he’s just uncovered, instinctively moving away from it and the _stench_. Whatever this is, or rather was, is very wrong and, well, not quite human anymore. The lower left of the man’s face seems to have melted and bubbled away somehow while the right side gradually morphs into discoloured and deformed animal traits down to his neck and parts of the chest. The rest of the body seems to have either burned or melted away, leaving behind a mess halfway between ashes and black-purple goop.

Looking a little further towards the far corner of the cell and into the next one, Gladio takes note of the numerous other piles tossed haphazardly. Of those visible many seem _mostly_ human. In the cell next to them a partially hidden mass sits with a disarray of jet black feathers randomly protruding out of it, the tips melting into that same foul black goop. What looks like a much smaller version of a behemoth's foot stretches past the tarp covering an oddly shaped body near where Prompto sits.

Gladio swallows what little saliva is left in his mouth, realising this is likely not your run of the mill abduction situation. This is very clearly not a regular Nif base.

“Noct,” He calls out, a feeble attempt to distract him from whatever is around them, to focus on something other than the deep panic he feels rising up in in throat. “Tell me, how bad is your leg?”

The answer is obvious, broken, but anything that can distract them for even a second from the horrors surrounding them is more than welcome. Noctis, grunts as a jolt of pain travels through it when Prompto shifts to adjust his position.

“Pretty bad.” He hisses, “Can't walk that's for sure. There’s no bone sticking out and I still feel my foot if that’s what you’re asking.” Had he had access to his hands, Gladiolus would have tried to stabilize the leg, working with his hands behind his back sounds like a terrible idea at best, and trying to guide Prompto who has no first air training through the manipulation doesn’t sound very promising either.

A scream suddenly echoes from down the tunnel just beyond the door facing their cell that sends an icy shiver down their spines. Gladio didn't even know Ignis had that kind of sound in his repertoire, much less expected someone to be able to force it out of him... His cries bounce off the walls, amplified in the cold empty room, echoing into an orchestra of agony.

Prompto bolts upright at the sound with surprising speed for someone whose hands are still bound behind his back, head snapping towards the door past the bars. He looks back at Noctis, both boys sharing equally terrified looks, then turns to Gladio for reassurance as a second wave of screams echoes from the advisor's direction.

Part of Gladio outright panics from the mix of confusion, helplessness and hearing the advisor's agonizing screams; but the protective instincts he's been raised to put above all else forbid he shows any of it, so he keeps his face as neutral as possible so as to not alarm Noctis and Prompto even more.

Voices and murmurs come from beyond the door; one sounding impressed, the second somewhere between pleased and mocking. Something metallic clicks, followed by the dull thump of a limp mass hitting the ground.

The shield sits perfectly still, listening for something, _anything_ that might give him a clue as to what's going on beyond the room they're in. For too long, all he can hear is muted conversations, too distant to understand. Some minutes later they can hear shuffling, then a short conversation followed by footsteps reverberating down the corridor, are growing closer as the voices get clearer, louder. Prompto's breathing accelerates, panic obviously building in him as whoever is responsible for all this strolls closer to the door, sounding _way_ too pleased with themselves judging by their tone. It's too sharp a contrast to all the other sounds coming from their direction over the last hour.

“Let's see how the rest of our guests are doing, shall we?” The first voice sounds from just beyond the door, full of mock-curiosity.

They hold their breath as the door swings open on with a rusty creak and Ignis is all but shoved inside the room, hands fastened behind his back, wobbling and only standing thanks to the hand cruelly clamped around the back of his neck holding him up like some kind of grotesque life-sized doll being paraded around.

Gladio instantly jumps to his feet and nearly body slams the bars separating him from the unsteady advisor, breath caught somewhere between his throat and lungs.

Ignis' hair is mussed and wet with a mix of sweat and blood, his open shirt stained crimson and soaked at the collar and front where it has run and soaked into the fabric. Oddly enough, Gladio observes, there is no visible wound there. That much blood loss could only come from serious injuries that would be impossible to miss from this distance, but Ignis’ skin shows no mark of abuse or visible injury safe for pale traces of the yellows and blues of old bruises. Even his leg, previously injured by the killer bees shows no trace of it.

Ignis' gaze is mostly cast down to his feet, avoidant and unfocused, and Gladio nearly screams for him to look up at him. He only has a short moment more to take note of his friend's condition before a “ _harrumph”_ and “If you please.” sound from behind whoever is gripping Ignis. His captor takes the hint and unceremoniously shoves the advisor forward to tumble face first against the cold ground a mere meter away from the bars his team is trapped behind.

The first captor steps closer, standing above Ignis' shivering form and smiling smugly in response to the glares he receives and the enraged roar that rumbles out of the shield.

“ _ARDYN!”_

“The one and only.” The chancellor chants, removing his hat and bowing in fake reverence before his captive audience. “At your service”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! ♥  
> Small disclaimer that English is not my first language, if anything sticks out as strange or is worded badly please let me know and I will correct it as soon as possible!


End file.
